Where The Lonely Ones Roam
by Remington Rand
Summary: Lizzie has more than a few secrets; it's harder to hide them when you don't have two siblings waging war as a distraction. When the popular Erica Mason finds out just what she's hiding, it only gets more complicated, especially as suspicion grows. [Some] Dasey; Lizwin [friendship]; Liz/Erica [femslash]. TW: Contains content related to eating disorders.
1. Preface

I prefer not including too many author notes or disclaimers cluttering up my summaries, hence my prefaces.

Just for emphasis: _this contains descriptions of what people with eating disorders do in detail._ I have made a point to avoid explicit descriptions, avoid mentioning numbers except when especially relevant to the story, and to avoid glorifying the illnesses mentioned in any way. It may still be triggering for some. Caution is advised.

Chapter titles and title subsections belong to various lyrics by Digital Daggers, none of those ideas are my own work.

This story is Lizzie-centric, conveying Lizzie/Edwin friendship only. Though it references events in Give Up, Give In, and therefore will contain some scenes of Dasey. It is not, however, a true Dasey story like the one it references.

With that said, it isn't necessary to read it to understand the storyline.

Please review, and I hope you enjoy the story!


	2. In The Shadows

_x-_

_You've got everything to lose_

_Yeah, I'm waiting on you_

_-x_

School was, at best, a place where she could go through the motions relatively unscathed.

Today, however, Lizzie McDonald did not get so lucky.

The bell rang and she waited for the rest of her class to leave, following her reputation as a grade-grubber. It may have been farthest from the truth, but if there was one benefit to it, it was that her peers chose to accept it blindly.

Someone hit her shoulder, knocking the notebook and books on her desk to the floor. "Grubber," hissed the girl, followed by a laugh. She rolled her eyes, leaning over to pick them up.

The fact was, it was easiest to hide in a hallway crowded with kids raging with hormones and the ill-hearted demeanor that seemed to accompany such changes. She spied Edwin amongst them, leaning back, talking to a friend beside him.

His presence outside her class was no coincidence; he followed her around much more frequently lately, trying to get her attention, refusing to let go the change in her behavior as of late.

Unfortunately, like most of her family and her peers, he was not one to fall for the covers she set up so easily. It was within his nature to query and pick apart stories, finding the holes in them.

Once upon a time, she had been the one by his side, playing pretend-detective. It was decidedly not as fun being on the opposite side.

Lizzie slipped into the bathroom, undetected by his searching gaze, letting out a sigh of relief as the door shut. Rounding around the corner where the stalls and sinks were, the form of Erica Mason met her eyes.

Or, in other terms, was more or less her nemesis. Erica was the queen of the gaggle of girls that followed her, and why she had picked Lizzie to spread rumors about was nothing more than a sad attempt to impress her sister.

Blonde, blue-eyed, and every bit as beautiful, she followed her sister's footsteps easily, applying lip gloss carefully with one index finger, sporting a small cut on her knuckle. She put the lip gloss away, the cuts flashing in the light as she peered critically at the skillfully-applied makeup on the rest of her face.

"Oh, didn't bring that math homework?" she cooed sarcastically when spying her gaze from the mirror, "Well, Frizzie Lizzie. Better job on your hair today, I must say, but there are much better places to kiss your brother."

The threat of spreading a rumors of Lizzie and Edwin's secret tryst had only started when Kendra confided in her little demon-sister that she saw Derek (_her _Derek, she maintained) and his stepsister being rather intimate. The fact that it was nonexistent was unimportant.

Lizzie had managed to keep her quiet by doing her homework, but the forced, fairly-frequent interactions with Erica Mason had tilted the cards in her favor. She had simply been biding her time to reveal the secret she knew the girl was hiding.

"Come to pretend you weren't shoving your fingers down your throat?" Lizzie snapped back.

The blue eyes narrowed ferally, glossed lips in a sneer, sensing the danger behind her words. "You're disgusting. Who thinks of stuff like that? I guess I shouldn't be surprised," she responded sharply, "You always were a total freak."

Lizzie ignored the statement. It was only meant to make her angry, to distract her. "Be careful who you cross, Erica," she said in a low voice, "I might just voice my _concerns _to that sister of yours. Somehow I think that would be a little more interesting to your friends."

The blonde girl crossed her arms with a glare. "Fine. I'm not responsible for whatever anyone else says about you. I'm not sure they'd believe it anyway, since," she twisted her lips into a dark smile, "you know, there's that story Danielle Fisher has been telling about you from soccer camp."

"The story neglects to mention, I'm sure, that she was the one to initiate it, and I was the one to reject her." Lizzie muttered.

Erica concealed her surprise with a roll of her eyes, her heels clicking as she walked to the door, "Sure, Lizzie. Do keep your mouth shut if you want to protect your brother." The door shut behind her firmly.

_Among other things, _Lizzie thought to herself, looking in the mirror. Her silent loathing at the reflection made it too hard to look at for long.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lizzie never went to the cafeteria for lunch, and Edwin couldn't blame her. There were too many people here that enjoyed tearing her down.

He suspected, though, that she mostly stopped going because she feared he would go too far during one of his inevitable interjections with the boys that began joining in.

Where she went, however, remained a mystery.

It was the perfect hiding place, Lizzie supposed, as she watched Edwin's head turn, searching for her. He didn't expect her in the cafeteria, so he wouldn't look.

What he failed to realize, it appeared, was that it was remarkably easy to hide there, since the stage and the cafeteria shared the same space.

All she had to do was sneak through the back entryway, which typically only the staff were allowed to use, and settle down in the darkness off-stage, cloaking herself between the heavy curtains for good measure.

The invisibility was something she found she enjoyed. Her eyes could study everyone to her heart's content, see what food was present that day, mentally calculating every bite they took.

It was like a warped version of voyeurism, a twisted form of window-shopping, and for some reason, she found solace in being able to be around the scent of food, seeing it, and stifling her impulse to have it.

She was strong, she lied to herself, as she nibbled at a cheese stick, she was fine, she didn't need more, having long ago tossed the rest of the lunch away in the woods for foragers.

It did not matter how cold she found herself as of late, or how difficult it was to sleep, or her inability to focus, much less care, about her studies. She pretended the numbness of her toes and fingers was not something that was steadily growing frequent.

It did not matter that her vision blurred, that she found herself on the ground one afternoon, after bolting from the end of soccer practice.

It did not matter that she had long since stopped playing soccer, after her coach asked her if she was all right. Nor that she had lied regarding her decision to quit shortly after, citing difficulties with her academic commitments.

Her father and the rest of her family didn't know yet, though she presumed she would have to mention something before the next game. She liked having the time for 'soccer practice' to herself.

Lately it seemed all she wanted was to be by herself, because there were less questions. Lizzie refused to admit that her lies had entwined into a larger problem.

She was fine.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_Dyke." _Erica hissed as Lizzie walked past toward the busses collecting eager students, ignoring the boys who called for her.

"Hey, Roger," she heard her say in a sugary tone to a boy who had presumably been somewhere behind her. Lizzie rolled her eyes. She voluntarily shut out listening to the rest of the conversation.

The bus may as well have been filled with hungry wolves. Lifting her eyes to the sky, trying to gauge the weather, she thought she may simply trek home.

"Hey, Liz," Edwin greeted her with a hand on her shoulder, "No bus."

He watched her look at him curiously, but the way her shoulder felt beneath his hand—small and pointed, as though there was only bone rather than flesh, kept his attention.

"Yeah? Nora's coming to pick us up?"

"Better," he said, with a grin, releasing her from his grip, "Derek."

The girl squinted at him in suspicion. "Why? Derek never offers."

He shrugged. "We came to an agreement…for the rest of the year. Let's just say I had some convincing reasons."

"Hm." Lizzie said, raising a brow, presuming blackmail. Her lips curled into a smile, "Impressive."

Edwin's heart sank, knowing the truth would anger her. But what choice did he have?

She was keeping secrets, too.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Alright, get in, I can't hang around here for long enough for someone to notice," Derek told them as his car idled at the back of the school, giving them an annoyed look.

Casey scoffed, but he ignored her. "I can't _believe _ you would make them wait out of sight like—"

"Younger siblings?" Derek offered with smile, pinching her cheek, "Oh, Casey."

Lizzie rolled her eyes and got in, Edwin settling beside her.

If there was one thing Edwin was always impressed by, it was Derek's ability to remain appearing completely unconcerned and self-absorbed when he needed to.

Casey couldn't know anything, that was his rule. She couldn't know why they had to wait at the back—to avoid the others who would inevitably cause Casey to get angry and protective by hearing what they said to her little sister—and she couldn't know why Derek was picking them up in the first place.

To be fair, he had tried not letting Derek in on it at all when he brought it up the day before.

"Derek," he said, "If I pay you five dollars every school day for the rest of the school year, will you pick me and Liz up from school?"

His brother had narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Ed never simply handed up money so easily, especially not the amount he was offering. "How about you keep the money and tell me what's really going on?"

The younger boy sighed. Fine, he had a back-up plan. "Just some guys giving me trouble on the bus. I promised Liz not to say anything."

"_Really," _Derek responded flatly, knowing full well Liz was not the secret-keeper he was trying to play her as, not for situations like these. Liz took after her sister—social justice was her calling, and in situations like these, she took after Derek. No one messed with Ed.

But Ed, on the other hand—he was the kind of person to keep Liz's secrets when she told him to, and he knew Liz's ability to ensure that with a good punch or two. But truth be told, she would never really have to worry about that. Edwin's loyalty to her was stronger than anyone else's in the family. Even Derek's.

He would keep her secrets if she asked.

Okay, that may have been an exaggeration—he didn't think of that right away. No, Edwin was simply a horrible liar, with the unfortunate tendency to begin tapping his foot or fingers on some surface as he waited.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _His fingers drummed against his desk before he was aware of it and stopped suddenly, forcing a smile on his face.

"You mean someone's giving Liz a hard time, and she doesn't want anyone to know, so you're pretending it's you?" Derek finally asked, eyes fixed on his fingers that were seemingly fighting the urge to begin drumming again.

"…Yes," he responded in dejection, and then pleadingly, "But you can't tell Liz you know. Or Casey. I promised her."

"It's stupid promise," his elder brother muttered darkly, "I'm sure I could set things right."

"They're a group of girls." Edwin clarified.

"Oh, Christ." Derek muttered, pressing his hand against his face, "That's _worse._ Fine, meet me at the back of the school. Consider this a favor I may need you to return one day."

"_Don't tell Casey." _Edwin repeated.

He rolled his eyes. "I won't, Ed. Liz won't know I know, either. Trust me. Unlike you, I'm actually good at lying. Be ready at three. Now go away."

It was rarely shown, but he had some loyalty to his brother, one that was different than the big-brother role he took with Marti and Lizzie. He was thankful for it.

"I asked him to meet us there," Edwin lied to Casey, cutting into the glare she was giving him as he drove.

She glanced at him, looking confused. "Why?"

He didn't have an answer for that one. Liz did, though.

"The queen of the school isn't exactly happy her crush said he liked me," she lied, shifting her gaze out the window, "He's vile, though, I'm not sure why she likes him anyway."

"Vile?" Casey asked, a glitter of hope in her eyes that some sort of romance was secretly unfolding.

"He was suspended for beating up a gay kid," Liz explained, "So yes, vile."

That part was true, Edwin knew.

"Oh." Casey said, with a frown, "I'm glad you're ignoring him then."

"He's also gay," Lizzie added, after thinking for a moment, remembering that the guy he had beat up was the same guy she had walked in him making out with off-stage, where she usually went to hide. They hadn't seen her, but heard the door shut and parted ways quickly.

"_What?" _ Edwin asked, in surprise.

Lizzie shrugged, not offering any more revelations about her classmates' secret lives, settling to look out the window instead.

"Ah, junior high," Derek commented cheerily, "Such fun."

If only he knew, Lizzie mused.


	3. Point Break

_x-_

_Can't sleep_

_Can't breathe_

_You'll get no peace with me_

_-x_

Dinner was something Lizzie intended to avoid, but could not. Her excuse of homework was apparently wearing thin, and Nora made it clear she was required to attend.

Probably something to do with pretending the family had not, as of late, ceased to be one.

It was unusually quiet. The girl wished she could blame it on the two teens that usually turned dinner into some kind of fight, but the glances everyone kept throwing her way suggested otherwise.

Her plate was piled high with plain lettuce, which was, in her opinion a suitable compromise for the fact that she was being force fed. But her mother handed her the basket of rolls, her inexorable nagging taking its toll, and one soon found its way onto her plate.

"Pasta, Liz," Derek announced with his mouth half full, handing her the bowl. She shook her head, but even that earned another round of criticism from George, and the girl found herself facing an ugly mess.

Watching as Marti, Derek, Edwin, and the others eat so easily, and expecting the same of her, she wondered when it had become something she couldn't do.

She nibbled on the bread first, tearing it in half.

This seemed to satisfy her parents somewhat, who backed off slightly.

But conversation was still stilted, still broken, still nothing like it used to be.

Casey eyed her sister with curiosity, no doubt thinking her lack of appetite had something to do with anxiety or depression.

She purposefully ignored Edwin the entire night. For once, he let her.

At the end, the younger McDonald was the last to finish her meal, forcing down the pasta, hating every moment of it.

_There is hell to pay, _Lizzie thought, as soon as she had a moment alone from prying eyes. Rather than moving toward the stairs to go to her room, she found herself eyeing the front door.

She intended to do the homework that had been piling up, slowly moving past its due date, but she simply couldn't think now. She had to do some damage control.

Looking around, and finally hearing Casey scream, _"Der-ek!" _ , she gave into the impulse and bolted.

There was a high possibility someone would notice, she realized, as she began running, but it was too late, she had already passed quite a few houses on the sidewalk and couldn't give up now.

Darting out between two houses, ignoring the small dogs that barked at her, the neighboring cluster of forestry and trees greeted her. It wasn't as large as it used to be, mostly because she was older now, but it was secluded enough.

Finding a dry spot, and bending down on her knees, flashes of Erica's hands ran through her mind.

"_Wow, you are a freak," _ she heard her say, _"there are bathrooms for this sort of thing."_

Not with four siblings, there wasn't, she reminded herself, and harshly jabbed two fingers into her mouth, annoyed that time was slipping away for such meaningless things.

Throat sore and bloodied, head throbbing, mouth tasting like copper and bile, she rose to her feet shakily and wiped her lips as best as she could.

Her back hurt and her stomach hurt and she didn't quite remember feeling quite this broken or twisted before, and she walked home waiting for some sense of peace to come to her.

It never did.

Somehow she was able to come in the house without being noticed. Her legs strained on the steps but urgency pushed her forward, panic at being seen skittering across her chest.

She thought she saw Edwin's door but didn't stop to check, entering her room with a shaky sigh.

Her face caught on the mirror conveniently affixed to the other side of the door. The skin around her eyes, even across the tops of her cheekbones, were speckled with dots of red and purple, like tiny little needles had run across her face.

"_This is why there's bathrooms. Why do you think I apply that makeup so much?" _Erica reminded her with pride.

Sinking to the floor, she stifled her helpless sobs with her hand, every breath she inhaled sending sharp stabs through her body.

Her crying ceased suddenly when she spied the purple box under her bed.

Right. She hadn't forgotten that she planned to exercise more today.

Later that night, her mother's voice rung through the hallway. "Derek?"

She scrambled pause the timer and heart rate monitor on her wrist and hide the stairstepper back beneath her bed. She ignored the sweat on her clothes in favor of hiding beneath her covers.

"Thought I heard the floorboards…never mind, go back to sleep, sorry to wake you." She heard her mother say.

Selfishly, Lizzie had realized she _could _use her elder stepsibling's current parental cruxification for one thing, and that was to hide her own secret.

Listening to Nora walk down the steps, she pulled out a flashlight and the notebook she hid beneath her pillow. Her eyes reviewed the day's entry despite its constant cycling in her head.

Her eyes fixed on the line _Breakfast, lunch, dinner total._

She added, _Exercise total _beneath it, looking at the strap on her wrist, scrawling down the number, subtracting it and writing down the new total below that.

It was less than she'd planned when she woke up this morning, but somehow she found little solace in that. It was still too much.

The notebook was hidden beneath her pillow, and she made a mental note to put it back in its hiding place the next morning.

It took a long time before she could sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

For once, Lizzie wished she had makeup, but aside from attempting to apply some of Casey's foundation to hide the marks around her eyes did little to help her. She was far too pale for it, and it would only call attention to her rather than deflect.

She shoved on an old pair of sunglasses instead, also Casey's, and ignored Edwin's questions. Thankfully Derek wasn't around to pry further.

"Napping on the way there," was her only explanation.

Nora, Edwin, and Marti looked at her oddly, but left her alone, not interested in inciting the vicious side of her that tended to come out when she got irritable with their questions. Compared to her latest behavior, this was simply becoming normal for her.

Wearing them all day wasn't a solution, though, so she figured she really only had one: leave. She could walk to the closest store and pick up some make-up that would work well enough, and maybe make it back before homeroom ended.

Ditching Edwin in favor of her plan, she diverted from him as soon as a gaggle of students passed by her. Barely processing the insults passed her way, her eye was on the back exit of the school around the corner, and she lifted up the hood on her jacket to make it harder for students to detect her. Combined with the too-big glasses, it seemed to work. Glancing around once more to ensure no one was watching her, she slipped out, moving away from visibility as fast as she could.

Keeping her head down seemed logical, in the sense of recognition. It didn't help avoiding things, or rather, people, in her way.

"Watch it!" a sharp voice snapped at her as her shoulder and arm collided into someone, the figure pushing her backward.

She staggered back, barely keeping her balance, the hood falling and glasses crashing to the ground. Blinking at the damaged lenses and smelling cigarette smoke, she looked up to meet a very familiar face.

"Of course it's you, Friz," she said irritably, perfectly-glossed lips taking another drag, "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were stalking me." Her hair was straightened today, framing her face, the makeup on her face perfect as always.

"You were the one who was in the way," Lizzie muttered, leaning over to pick up the glasses, watching hot pink high heels attached to perfect legs move toward her. How odd, that a girl who seemed practically Barbie-perfect didn't see it that way herself.

"Should have figured you for a dyke earlier," commented Erica, raising a brow at her stare.

"And yet you're not running away asking your little Ken doll to help your trauma," snarked Lizzie darkly when the ruined glasses were in her hand, meeting her eyes "Aren't you afraid I might be contagious, Barbie?"

Normally that would make Erica fume and retort something about her lameness, or her brother. But she just took another drag on her cigarette, leaned in closer, too close for comfort, studying her face.

And then she _smiled. _Not a friendly smile, but one of arrogance and mischievousness, a weird combination of emotions the brunette only saw on her. It was her Plotting Bad Things smile, never something one wanted to be on the receiving end of.

"Have a little tryst with the porcelain throne last night, did we?" the blonde mused, her eyes glittering at the flash of panic in Lizzie's eyes, "I wondered how you figured it out. Should have been obvious. Still, can't say I've gotten contusions that bad for a while, how far did you go?"

_So that's what they're called, _Lizzie thought.

She tilted her head defiantly, crossing her arms. "For someone supposedly cool, it sounds pretty lame when you call it that. Does that make you feel better about it or something, Barbie? Like a proper princess?"

Erica narrowed her eyes, the light revealing flecks of green when she pushed her face closer, taking advantage of her height to feign acting like a threat. "You don't know anything _about _me, you stuck-up wastoid, so don't pretend you do."

"Nor do you, and yet you spend a lot of time pretending you do," Lizzie shot back, the frustration reaching its peak, crowding the thoughts in her head, "I'm not with my stepbrother, I never will be, and it's not because I like girls, it's because I'm too busy thinking about every fucking calorie to care about the shit you somehow manage to."

The blonde stubbed out her cigarette, looking away briefly. Why was she doing this? Why were they doing this?

Secrecy was the first rule, and it was broken, and it was weird, and uncomfortable, because she wasn't supposed to be able to relate to Friz. She wasn't supposed to feel like actually talking to her, spilling out everything she'd been sure to hide. Or feel like offering to do her makeup. Anything that wasn't consisting of spreading another rumor was just wrong.

The brunette let out an exasperated sigh. "I was just leaving. Enjoy your cancer, and we can pretend we didn't come into contact for the sake of your rep."

"Friz," Erica stopped her, and she only did because her tone remained soft, and quiet, and she just had to check to make sure it even slipped past her lips. "I can help you pick things out? I'm sure you're hopeless at makeup."

"_Absolutely not,_ Barbie,"is what Lizzie meant to say. She swore that was what was running through her mind as she answered and turned to continue on her way.

"Just stop calling me Friz," came the reply, "and don't think I'll slow down for you just because you're in those stupid high heels."

"Like you even know what good shoes are," retorted the blonde as she caught up and matched her strides, "God, you really are hopeless."

"This coming from the girl who can't do her math homework. I think I'm okay with that."

Erica scowled and Lizzie smirked, looking very much like a certain Venturi.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_A/N: _

_I try to keep my author's notes to a minimum but can I just detail my thought process here_

_Whilst writing chapter one: Oh god I hate this Erica bitch and I made her up I swear I'm keeping her to a minimum_

_Whilst writing chapter two: WHAT DID I JUST DO._

_(Dasey femslash style? Maybe, we'll see. Opinions please?)_


	4. I See Lightning

_x-_

_Give me chaos _

_When there's nothing inside_

_Pull me into your untamed sky_

x-

Erica had made a point of not mentioning anything related to the secret they happened to share on the trek over, instead loudly commenting on Lizzie's clothes, lack of fashion sense, and eventually, her "raging dykey dedication to the environmental cause" because, in her opinion, cruelty-free was simply not synonymous with looking good.

_But, _she thought to herself, _I may or may not be saying that because you insulted me by calling me a bottle-blonde. _

Honestly, did the girl think she have such low standards that she would do such a thing?

Lizzie's jaw simply clenched and she edged out, "We're here, you…you…heathen."

"Heathen? Really?" responded Erica dryly, clasping a hand to her chest, "I am incredibly wounded."

Then she looked up at the building and curled her nose. "Well, this will have to do, I suppose. I forgot you were poor, on account of that…blended family of yours."

"I've used Barbie too many times as it is, but you really do have the empathy of an inanimate object so I suppose if the name fits…" the slightly-built brunette muttered, walking inside.

"You've forgotten I don't particularly find that insulting," the girl said with a smirk, following her.

"I'll be sure to come up with something, then. Just to ensure you scowl enough to get wrinkles one day." Lizzie promised distractedly, searching for the makeup aisle.

"Here," Erica said suddenly, suddenly all business, marching up the aisles and pressing one finger to her lip, considering the options. She picked a few bottles, her gaze still intense as she pressed the bottles against the shorter girl's cheeks, comparing the tone.

"You are like, disgustingly pale." She said finally, "I thought for sure a 305 would be all right. You should—"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'get a tan,' I swear I'm not going to take your advice on makeup ever again," Liz threatened, and the blonde shot her a nasty look, leaving the bottles on a shelf.

She went over to the same section she'd come from and picked out different ones, repeating what Lizzie figured was a very, very weird trust exercise.

A half-content look settled on Erica's lips, "That'll work, I think. Now we have to find some cooling cream, and some powder…" she trailed off, disappearing behind the next aisle, leaving no choice to follow, the touch of the bottle having left a tingle on her face.

"I thought cooling cream was for when you go to sleep," Lizzie said in confusion.

Rather than rolling her eyes at her clear lack of knowledge, the blue eyes lit up in what appeared to be excitement. "Ooh, good idea, I'll find some of that too."

The brunette rolled her eyes, taking a vow a silence until after they had paid and left the store. Erica didn't seem to notice, quite happy in her little world of makeup powder and weird bottles of green cream.

After they'd paid, the price of which compelled Lizzie gave her a murderous stare, she asked the man behind the counter, "Can we use your restroom?"

He looked at them suspiciously, like he wanted to know why they weren't in school, but having spent a tidy sum on the makeup, and apparently influenced by the smile Erica shot him, he grunted and pointed to the sign.

"Come on, I'm only going to show you how to do this once," she warned as she took her hand, "So you better pay attention. And usually, you should put moisturizer on your face before you start this, it's better for your skin."

The first thing to apply, apparently, was the oddest.

Lizzie eyed the green cream with distrust. "What the hell is that?"

"Diminishes the redness, so it's easier to cover up," responded Erica, her voice sounding all-business again as she squeezed a small amount onto her palm, "You should only need a bit, like this," and then began putting it on her face.

_Okay, the weird trust exercise just got weirder,_ Lizzie thought, feeling the girl put her other hand on her chin, moving her face for better light. She decided looking up at the ceiling to avoid staring at her was best.

"Hey, weirdo, look in the mirror. Memorize this routine." Erica said, rolling her eyes, digging around for the next layer of makeup.

She did, and out of surprise, saw that the cream faded into a pale hue when applied, effectively muting some of the redness she saw.

"Don't look so surprised," the blonde muttered, her lips glinting in the light, "I've had a lot of practice with this." She squeezed some foundation in her palm next.

"I have to say," she murmured, as she applied the foundation in dabs on the girl's face, before moving two fingers in circles, "as grossly pale as you are, you've got those cheekbones working out for you, so I guess that's something."

"Gee, thanks," Lizzie responded sarcastically.

"It wasn't a compliment, I was just stating a fact," Erica replied coolly, "You've got the gist of that part, you can finish putting it on."

The other girl followed her example, finishing it quickly.

"Missed a spot," the blonde murmured, swiping beneath her eyebrow, "those eyebrows are out of my control, though."

Lizzie rolled her eyes but didn't say anything. Last thing she needed was the girl buying a pair of tweezers and attacking her face.

She took the girl's chin between two fingers and moved her head over again, pressing a soft, pillowy-feeling pad to her face.

"Powder. Keeps things in place. All right, should be easier, now," Erica said with a nod, running water under her hands, "I'll explain the other stuff on the way back."

To say the least, despite her absence, homeroom was educational for Lizzie. Erica's knowledge of beauty products was ridiculously thorough.

She stopped Lizzie from rounding the corner to the school with a hand on her shoulder.

"You are going to stand here, and wait two minutes. I don't want anyone getting ideas." Erica commanded.

"Oh, no, not ideas!" Lizzie droned in mock-horror, "Just in time, I was about to thank you."

"Well, _you _better not have the wrong idea, either. This was a one-time thing, got it?"

"Aye, aye," came the sardonic response, with a mock salute, "No contact with Bottle-blondie ever happened."

"I'm not a bottle blonde!" she snapped, stalking away, "You fucking albino."

If she heard Lizzie laugh, she didn't show it.


	5. In The Wreckage

_x-_

_In the porcelain, there's a crack_

_I've seen your dark side_

_Now there's no turning back_

_-x_

As it turned out, she not only missed homeroom, but was ten minutes late for her first class as well.

She shot her teacher a sheepish stare and did her best not to look at anyone staring back at her, managing to dodge a foot as she walked to an empty desk.

When the class resumed, she found her focus returning to the notebook and her breakfast this morning and the fact that she hadn't lost another pound since the week before.

As the day moved forward, the entire little adventure she'd taken almost seemed like a strange dream, if it hadn't been for the proof sitting in her backpack.

That, of course, did not last long.

During third period, her teacher interrupted her feigning note-taking to inform her she was needed in the principal's office. Her heart sank, and panic exploded in her stomach.

As she walked to the office in the bare corridor, it wasn't a total surprise to see Erica fuming as she waited. Wisely, she chose to sit at the end, farthest from her.

"Ladies," greeted the principal, a short, balding man who never seemed to smile, "please come this way,"

The girls followed him, Erica staring daggers into his back, a scowl remaining on her face as he faced them at his desk, gesturing for them to take a seat.

"So," the man began, his dark eyes stern, "I have been told you two were seen walking away from school this morning. Now, Erica, you're familiar with the rules, I'm sure. This would be your third strike, and that means suspension, not detention."

Lizzie surmised this suspension would have savage repercussions for Erica's budding social life. Or so she would screech at her, the next time she could.

"I had to go to the store to buy tampons," Lizzie said bluntly, "since this school doesn't carry any, and the pads are practically for two people. Erica didn't want me to go alone. It was only supposed to be a few minutes but…"

"…there was an accident, you see, so we had to…sort that out." Erica threw in with the most superficially sympathetic look on Lizzie had ever seen. The brunette shot her a dark look in return.

Meanwhile, the man behind the desk was blushing crimson. There were obvious holes in the story, but he was rendered incapable of caring. Talking about…menstrual issues with girls younger than his own daughter made him far too uncomfortable.

"Fine," he managed to say, "just detention for both of you,"

Erica hid her relief, but she relaxed too soon.

"_Saturday _detention, that is."

When they were allowed to leave, Erica took Lizzie's arm and pushed her into the bathroom, checking every stall before speaking.

"I cannot believe you," she began, in a shrill frequency Lizzie thought was only possible after inhaling helium, "If you tell anyone about this, I will _murder _whatever semblance of a decent reputation you have left."

Lizzie gave her a vacant smile. "What is it with you and assuming I _want _to the association known to begin with? You came with me out of your own volition. I didn't ask."

"Whatever. If my parents find out about this, I'm going to have bigger problems," Erica continued in her panicky screech, redness blooming across her face, "I'm going to have to go to _private school _somewhere thousands of miles away where they have uniforms and curfews and—"

She stopped, taking a breath. "You have to convince him to let me off the hook. Otherwise both our parents are getting a call tonight."

Lizzie shrugged. "I doubt he'll listen to me. Tell them the story you gave him."

She began pacing back and forth, the panic worsening. "You're right, for once. Why would he listen to you? I need to intercept that call."

The brunette rolled her eyes at the verbal jab and crossed her arms.

"Then I need to find a way to go out alone," Erica looked at her, clearly devising a plan, "Which I'm never allowed to do unless I have someone with me, or I can sneak out. But it being broad daylight, I don't see that happening. So you're coming with me. Have someone drop you off at my place."

"Oh, hell n—"

"You got me into this. You're helping me get out of it. Then we'll be even, got it?" She cut her off, a finger pointing at her.

"Well, princess, you can't always get what you want. I'm not meeting you at your place Saturday morning. Derek and Casey are out because they'd know whose place it was, and believe it or not, my parents actually didn't plan on me getting Saturday detention." Lizzie intoned.

Upon seeing her exasperation, she explained further. "They're taking Marti to her dance practice and telling Edwin they're taking him out for ice cream but really going to the dentist."

"Fine. I didn't really want to do this but it'll serve for a better lie anyway. You're staying over at mine." Erica said with a grimace.

"You do know Saturday's tomorrow?" Lizzie said, "I didn't exactly plan for a slumber party with Miss Priss."

"Not my problem," Erica said, walking over to the mirrors to check her makeup, "I'm sure I'll find…something you can borrow."

"Your generosity is astounding," muttered the other girl, "Why not get one of your lackeys to go with?"

An audible scoff echoed in the room. "Like any of them are awake before noon, and besides, it's not like I need them knowing. Deal with it, Friz."

"No." Lizzie said finally, lips pressed into a thin line.

The blonde shot her a murderous look, and stalked over to her to whisper, "If you don't, I'm screwed anyway. I'll take you down with me, and you know exactly what that means."

Erica watched as she swallowed hard at the implication, hate burning in her eyes as she spat out, "Fine. I'll wait in the library after school's out."

"Perfect." She responded in a tone that suggested otherwise, slamming the door behind her.

_What the fuck did I just get myself into? _Lizzie thought with a sigh.


	6. Quiet

x-

_I will keep quiet, _

_You won't even know I'm here__  
__You won't suspect a thing_

-x

The end of the school day arrived far too quickly for Lizzie, who purposefully took longer than necessary when making her way to the library. She had already regretted not attempting to at least change the principal's mind. Saturday detention would be miserable enough; having a snarky sidekick who embodied everything she wasn't would hardly make it any better.

The pathetic thing was, really, was not that she gave a shit about the detention itself, or the trouble it might cause with her parents, or any other slightly vaguely realistic consequence.

There was a reason she stopped staying at friends' houses. There was a reason she kept to herself. It was much easier to control the universe when you shut everyone else out.

No, it all had to do with the fact that she was entering unchartered territory: the residence of Erica Mason was out of her control. What would she do if they had dinner? Dessert? How could she possibly count the calories? How could she possibly manage to ensure she didn't go over her limit for the day?

Worse, what if it made her lose control? What if she couldn't stop eating because she was just so hungry?

She found power in her ability to turn down food, in her ability to micromanage every bite. She found beauty in the grotesqueness of it all—not the same kind of beauty that Erica had, no, something much darker, something much different.

Power. Control. Safety.

When she saw herself in the mirror, after a long day of exercising and small portioning, when she saw the deep circles around her eyes and the wasted look in her eyes, the _dead-girl-walking _stare, she thought she finally saw herself for who she really was.

Someone who deserved what she was doing to herself, because normal people, people who loved their family and their friends and everything they did for them, they didn't starve themselves. They didn't cradle the very thing that made them cry at night closer, ensuring its survival, putting everyone and everything else below it.

They didn't find reasons to keep doing what they did. They didn't keep lying to them, keeping them in the dark, shutting them out in any way possible, even using a sharp tongue and biting retorts to keep the walls up, keep their concern away.

Really, she kept telling herself, as she skipped meal after meal, she was doing them a favor. If she was weak enough, willing enough, to become a monster and aim for a slow suicide in the name of a twisted little fantasy for control and the simple desire to see just how far she could go, what kind of person had a place like that in the world?

Not her, she thought, not at all.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Erica scowled when she saw the brunette enter the library, ten minutes late. Her eyes skimmed across the room, finding hers, moving toward her, her feet heavy and dragging, the backpack she wore seemingly far too heavy for her.

If it weren't for the hard stare from the girl that burned into her face, the blonde would have assumed she was just incredibly lazy. But she found herself remembering, again, the events of the previous day and found herself noticing more and more little things she wondered why she had been so blind to.

Erica found this new development in their odd little dynamic complicated. It was easier to hate Lizzie McDonald, it was easier to pretend she was a nobody, it was easier not to think about consequences of her actions, words, easier not to acknowledge the girl had an actual life and thoughts and feelings.

"Glad to see you made it, headcase," Erica muttered icily, whirling around to lead her out, "it's about time. My sister does not take kindly to waiting around long on Fridays, you know, and I do have a phone call to intercept."

Lizzie felt her head swim as she followed, her vision blotting, blurring. _Oh, _she thought, recalling her lack of wise nutritional choices for the day, _this was not a good idea._

She managed down the stairs (somehow) without stumbling, gripping on the rail tightly, feeling as though she was going far too fast, though it was hard to tell.

The blonde peered up at her at the foot of the stairs, catching her other arm when her foot missed the second-to-last step. She made sure to over-exaggerate her sighs of annoyance, ignoring the total look of confusion on the shorter girl's face as she forced the backpack off her shoulders, taking care to keep her from reeling too far.

Her manicured hand promptly dropped the bag, eyes widening in shock. "What the fuck are you carrying in here, a goddamn pile of bricks?"

_More books than I need, _Lizzie thought, _the more mass I carry, times the minutes I walk…_

Erica chose not to challenge her odd selective mutism at the moment; Friz was always weird, she reminded herself. The recent events of late would not change that.

She forced the backpack on her shoulders and marching forward to the car waiting outside for them, keeping part of her focus on the girl behind her.

No, it wouldn't change things at all.

Meanwhile, a dark-eyed figure watched them from behind the staircase, narrowing his eyes at the way Erica talked to Lizzie, surprise etching across his features as he watched the rest of the exchange.

He could see why Liz had been purposefully vague in her text to him about the weekend. None of it made sense, but if Edwin had learned anything in the last few months, it was that observing was better than questioning when it came to his stepsister.

Knowing he had to walk home, he sighed and began walking, trying to put the puzzle together in his mind.

But none of it made sense.

Arriving home to an empty house, he trudged up the stairs, eyes involuntarily flickering to the door across from his.

With Derek and Casey's first _real _date tonight, Nora and his father would be distracted. Liz was gone, when she rarely ever was. He found himself going toward the door, one hand placed on the doorknob.

It was his only chance. He had to take it. Turning the doorknob, he was just about to open the door when he heard his parents enter the door, Marti screaming, _"We're home!" _

Edwin's hand dropped from the doorknob guiltily. He couldn't spy on Liz.

It was wrong.

Wasn't it?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Edwin wasn't the only person to find Erica and Lizzie in the same space without context odd.

"Lizzie," Kendra remarked in surprise as she saw the girl climb into the backseat of the car, trying to recall the last time she had seen the younger McDonald, noticing how tired she seemed, how pale she seemed.

Her eyes flickered over to her sister who was putting on an air of complete nonchalance, like this happened every day. She narrowed her eyes, watching her sister set the girl's backpack down.

"I didn't know you were friends," she said pointedly, watching her sister flinch at the implication.

"We're not _friends." _ Erica glared at her, knowing she wanted to goad her, "We just have a school project and I had the unfortunate luck of being paired with Friz, here."

"I think the unfortunate luck is mine, not yours, Barbie," Lizzie shot back heatedly, "Your grades could do with a makeover,"

Kendra knew her sister, she knew Lizzie wasn't the kind of girl she spent time with, nor did she do things like carry her _bag. _Or give her nicknames that weren't based on some kind of slur.

"Just like your entire wardrobe," Erica responded faux-sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes.

The brunette let out a little sigh, eyes closing for a moment as she felt another wave of light-headedness wash over her. She ignored the comment.

Kendra continued to watch from the rearview mirror as her sister put her seatbelt on, keeping a space between herself and Lizzie like she had the social standing of a leper, the act contradicted by the constant glances in the girl's direction.

"Drive," she heard her sister command, as though she was aware of her sister's line of thought, and raised an eyebrow, reconsidering the angle that it was all Lizzie's doing. Whatever _it_ was, anyway.

"I am not your chauffeur, Erica," Kendra snapped, which started a round of bickering on the way home that Lizzie was thankful for, because it made it easier for her to pretend she wasn't there at all, head leaned against the glass.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_A/N: Fair warning-I've decided this is going to be a femslash story, given the ideas I have and direction this story is going in._

_Apologies for the OOCness on Lizzie's part, but eating disorders can make you turn into another person entirely, so it seems warranted/reasonable. My goal with this was to lead her back into the 'real' Lizzie as it progresses._

_Thanks for reading! _


	7. Burdens We Bear

_x-_

_Now I'm the heavy burden _

_That you can't bear__  
__Look what you made of me_

_-x_

Kendra had dropped them off, telling them not to expect her back and reminded her sister to lock the door after bringing Benny in. Then she drove away after giving Lizzie an imperceptible look, the backpack at her feet, her sister having caught onto her thoughts and decided not to give her much more to work with.

Lizzie found herself wondering who was Benny, and her question was answered moments later as a large dog—a German Shepard mix of some kind—howled at them from behind a chainlink fence.

Erica shushed him and walked over to the gate, where the dog, overjoyed at her arrival, dashed in circles around her, panting happily. Spying Lizzie, who was concerned he may be aggressive, the dog made its way over to her (in circles—Lizzie thought it needed to get its head checked) and sniffed at her curiously.

Deciding she was not a bearer of food, he nudged at her hand as though there was some sort of rule in dog-world: _You have hands, pet me, human._

Lizzie grinned and knelt down, scratching under his chin where the animal let out a content sigh. She heard a sound of excitement and turned, to where Erica was in the doorway, some kind of fashion magazine in hand. Then she called for Benny and Lizzie took that as a cue to follow.

Erica was not one for house tours, the girl noted, as she wordlessly locked the door behind her and led her up the stairs, through a wide hallway with only one small table and vase of fake flowers for décor, passing two rooms before reaching their destination.

Lazily, she tossed the magazine on the desk in front of her and kicked off her shoes. Lizzie felt small, out of place. But a small amount of curiosity couldn't stop her from looking around and taking in her surroundings.

There were two doors on either side of her that didn't belong to the entryway and Lizzie wondered where they went. She knew better than to look or ask, and moved closer to a shelf that contained a number of unmarked book spines, some that looked like photo albums or scrap books. Another shelf contained a few knick knacks—three medals for something she couldn't quite make out, and a photo of Erica and Kendra, sitting on a tire swing, smiling widely up at the lens. She couldn't have been older than twelve, but she had been pretty then, too.

_Some people have it all, _Lizzie thought, and found herself wondering again why her perception of the girl (personality not included) was so different.

The door creaked open and Benny's head stuck through the crack. He was looking at Lizzie pointedly, like she was supposed to do something and had forgotten.

"Benny," Erica said sharply, furrowing her brow in false anger, and the dog perked up, burrowing past the door and sitting at her feet. She dropped the pretense and a small smile grew on her face, "Do you want a…"

The dog stared at her, waiting for her to say the word, tail thumping against the floor.

"…um-brell-a?"

The dog groaned at her.

Lizzie watched, amused by the turn of events, as the girl named random items that did not sound like anything close to the word 'treat' until the dog barked in irritation.

Giving in, Erica sighed out, "Come on, then," and started toward the door, stopping when Lizzie hadn't moved, "You too," she clarified dryly.

In the kitchen, after Erica had retrieved a piece of rawhide for the dog to chew on, Lizzie heard the sound of a song she didn't recognize. A moment of surprise crossed Erica's face before she answered and was suddenly all bubblegum pop—"Hey, lover," she said giggling, "I can't go anywhere today, you know that."

Lizzie rolled her eyes and Erica either didn't notice or pretended not to as she listened to the voice on the phone. "No, I'll tell them anyway. Tomorrow night you'll stop by then?"

She watched as the blonde smirked to herself and ended the call, meeting Lizzie's eyes briefly before making another call.

"Hi, Mrs. Lowell," Erica said in her warmest tone, something Lizzie figured must have taken practice in front of a mirror.

_Did the mirror break in the process? _She wondered, as the girl explained Roger was driving and would be out for the night but back before curfew.

When the call ended Erica sighed at Lizzie's confounded expression. "Don't worry about it, Lizard-face," she said, "_Some _people have lives that don't center around grade-grubbing and we help each other out sometimes." She turned to a cupboard and opened it, pulling out a granola bar.

The sight effectively extinguished Lizzie's curiosity and her lips thinned.

"Don't give me that look," Erica muttered lazily, as she got out two small plates and put one granola bar on each, "I'm not risking spending my night in the ER because _you're _about to black out."

Erica crumpled up the wrapper, tucking it in her pocket, not sure if Lizzie would try to sneak a glance if she simply threw it away.

She pushed one plate toward the girl and began nibbling on the food, an irritated glare flashing beneath sea green eyes when Lizzie didn't follow suit.

But she couldn't deny that she was hungry, and moments later, gave in.

The girl glanced over at the plate, picking up the granola bar, ignoring the fear that roiled inside her when she took a bite. She chewed, hating that it tasted good. Chocolate and peanut butter, something she hadn't had in a long time.

Erica acted like she wasn't paying attention, eyes fixed on her cell phone screen, sending a text to Roger to let him know the coast was clear. They had an arrangement of sorts. She pretended to be Roger's sometimes-date, the girl who pretended to be his casual friend-with-benefits, or casual-girlfriend to his parents, and he snuck away to do whatever it was he did with the social nobody he was smitten with. She couldn't recall his name, Alex-something?

In return, she got weed, and he kept quiet about the fact that she partook as frequently as she did (her social circle, whilst accepting of weed as an occasional practice during parties, would find it crass to know she smoked nearly every day). It worked out well, for everyone, as far as she was concerned.

Lizzie was probably one of those goody-goody girls that hated drug use in any form, Erica speculated, and the secret was for two people only. There was no reason she needed to know any of it.

Sensing that she was about to ask a million nosy questions, Erica chose a low blow. Food. It would derail her train of thought and hopefully make her leave the subject alone.

The fact that she hadn't contended the new nickname—Lizard-face—was a sign of how effective the strategy was. Fifteen minutes was how long it took for her to finish the food, nibbling at it like a rabbit, eyes glazed over as she tried her hardest not to think about what she was doing. She chose not to comment on it.

"I have homework to do," Lizzie announced after she finished.

"Of course," Erica sighed, uncharacteristically choosing not to pursue another sarcastic retort. _And the weirdness of the night begins, _she thought to herself as she began walking back to her room.

If Lizzie noticed, she didn't say anything.

-x-x-x-

Edwin had been sleeping on the couch, his parents and the elder kids in the house busy arguing over the boundaries of date night, when the phone jolted him awake at 5 pm.

Casey's voice registered in his bleary mind. "George, having to be here back by 11 pm will hardly give me enough time to—"

He heard Derek's stifled laughter and rolled his eyes.

"Got it!" He called to his family members, who remained oblivious, and picked up the receiver, mumbling in a rough, sleep-tinged tone, "Hello?"

"Mr. Venturi?" A stern voice asked, "This is Principal Wells,"

"From Lizzie's school," Edwin mumbled, and if the man found it odd he didn't mention Edwin's name, he made no indication of it as he continued.

"I wanted to inform you that today your daughter was found off school grounds during homeroom. I assigned Saturday detention for the infraction. Now, I went lightly on her because she's done nothing like this before, but I am concerned about the choice she made today and…" he paused briefly, as though hesitating, "...the girls she appears to be spending her time with. I would encourage you to speak to her about her behavior before this escalates. Can you ensure she attends detention tomorrow?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Wells," Edwin breathed, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It won't happen again, have a pleasant night,"

"We can schedule a meeting if—"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Wells," he said, cutting him off quickly, scrambling to make sure his tone matched the sleepy, rough one he answered with, "I'm sure this won't happen again. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Venturi," the man sounded surprised, but let it go, "Have a good night."

The phone clicked and Edwin let the phone clatter noisily as it fell back into the receiver.

Whatever his moral qualms on the matter, he had to figure out what was going on with Lizzie. If she wouldn't tell him, that left snooping. He sighed and hoped she wouldn't kill him if she found out.

He ran up the stairs and opened Lizzie door's quietly, slipping inside the room before he could change his mind.

The fact that it was so tidy would make it hard to rifle unnoticed, he realized. He elected to simply look at things, to see if anything seemed out of the ordinary. Her bookshelf was a collection of fiction and nonfiction, nothing he saw as particularly odd.

He logged onto her computer and didn't find anything unusual in the internet history or her documents, though he did note that there was a generically titled playlist ("Playlist #93") in her media player that held a collection of songs that struck him as potentially thematically relevant.

It was the sort of stuff he didn't think Lizzie would ever really like, at least the songs he recognized. She wasn't a fan of the screaming vocals or depressing lyrics, and yet that was all the list contained.

Spying a cord from the USB port that was identical to the one for his phone, he decided to sync the playlist to his phone and have a listen. Maybe it would tell him something.

As he waited, his eye roamed toward her bed and caught the purple box platform he usually only ever saw middle-aged women use on TV. She'd claimed it was for soccer, when she bought it, and no one really thought to question it because she'd been getting really into soccer then, after she came back from camp.

He glanced up at her bedside table, opened it. The arm band and watch caught his eye, and he recognized it as a heart rate monitor. _That _was a little strange to him, but not enough to really explain much—Derek had explained to him once that to make it in the athletic world, you had to be determined (he used this as a reason for why he wasn't totally sure he wanted to go pro) but for Lizzie, and her weird neurotic McDonald genes, it made sense.

Maybe that was it, he thought, maybe that was all it was. She was getting older.

Edwin thought he spied something under her pillow, and reached toward it, but Marti had found him and asked indignantly, _"What _are you doing, Edwin?"

He froze, and then turned stiffly to meet his sister's eyes. Letting out a laugh, he shrugged. "Nothing, Marti. Just trying to figure out what to get Liz for her birthday," he lied, curling his fingers into his hands.

She peered at him suspiciously, then grinned a mischevious little smile. "I won't tell Lizzie if you take me for ice cream!"

Edwin sighed. "Deal," he said, "But you can't tell _anyone _you caught me, not just Lizzie."

She shrugged. "Okay," agreed the younger girl, "I'm gonna go dress up for ice cream! Be ready in five minutes!"

The boy, having risen to his feet and forgotten about the pillow already, rolled his eyes. There was going to be a day when Marti no longer took five minutes to get ready.

Shutting the drawer with the watch shut, he walked over to the computer, where the songs had synced, and double-checked for any indication that his phone's data had ended up on the computer or onto her email accounts. He couldn't find any, and logged off the computer, shutting the door as quietly as he had entered.

-x-x-x-

_It's official, _Lizzie thought to herself, knowing the aghast look on her face was evident, _this day cannot get weirder. _

Erica had been impersonating her mother on the phone since she was ten—first for Kendra, then later, herself. When Principal Wells, like clockwork, had called her house, she answered sounding like a slightly drunk socialite with an American accent without thinking about it.

"Heavens!" Erica claimed in a southern drawl, clutching at imaginary pearls, "She said that? I'm _terribly _sorry, Mr. Wells," breaking character to roll her eyes, "I will most certainly speak with her and inform her that this kind of _behavior _is simply…_not _what we Mason women abide by!"

She paused, eyes glittering with the sort of amusement that was reminiscent of Derek's whenever a prank went as planned, "Thank you, Mr. Wells, I don't know what I'd do without your _tireless _and _admirable _work at Campbell Junior High."

The phone call ended shortly after that and Erica caught Lizzie's gaze, which had morphed from one of shock to amusement, and the blonde stated, flipping her hair back, "I need another sherry," she informed her, looking weary, "that girl is going to make me a laughingstock in front of my book club at this rate!"

Lizzie scoffed. "Book club?"

Sea green eyes pinned her into place, a coldness there Lizzie hadn't seen before, Erica's lips twisting into a superficial smile, "I wouldn't expect people like _you _to understand," she continued, the drawl nearly perfect, "We must continue to expand our minds and discuss the _important _things, you see, and _The Rose of the Night _is the _perfect _metaphor for these troubled times, why, even the relationship between the handsome Colin and Isabelle—"

"Oh, I'm sure the semi-erotic scenes about his manhood also have some deeper meaning," Lizzie said, rolling her eyes.

Erica shook her head, dropping the act, "It's full-on erotica, I read a few pages once. The amount of euphemisms for 'penis' in one chapter was ridiculous."

Lizzie made a face, abandoning the math homework in front of her, "Please don't tell me they used 'sword of manhood',"

The girl let out a giggle before stifling it abruptly, and shook her head. "I swear all they do each week is coo over the X-rated parts, I overheard them once." She smirked, "There's a reason she makes sure no one's around to listen. She tells everyone it's _philosophically-engaging _and _rigorous for the mind _but that's bullshit."

"Where is she from?" asked the brunette, "She's American, isn't she?"

"South Carolina, born and raised, a beauty queen by fifteen and since she gave it up at twenty, she's been trying to relive the glory days." Erica's tone suggested she didn't think too highly of her mother's mission.

"_I've got a twenty dollar bill that says no one's seen you without make-up,_" crooned the pink cell phone Erica seemed attached to, and Lizzie raised her brows.

"Do you have a ring tone for every single person in your contacts list?" she asked dryly, which she received a rude gesture in return for.

"Yeah?" Erica asked in a bored tone, shifting her eyes to her nails.

Patrice Mason had long since given up on her daughter ever answering the phone with a modicum of respect when she called, so she ignored the tone she used and asked, "Have you sent in your application for Leaders of Tomorrow yet? You know the deadline is coming up soon."

"I sent it in today," Erica lied, fully having planned on never even filling out one page. She had her fake rejection letter ready to go, however, which probably contained more effort than completing the application even did.

Leaders of Tomorrow was a joke, anyway. Like her mother's "book club", it was another excuse to dress up in dresses too tight for you and prance around in hopes of scoring the attention of rich men.

In fairness, Erica was not at all opposed to wearing dresses too tight for her _or _attracting the attention of rich men, but the dates of the event coincided with the summer internship she was planning for, she intended to take no chances. If she got into the program her mother hoped she would, bye-bye internship.

Erica refused to let that happen. That spot was _hers, _fair and square.

"Good," her mother responded, shaking the girl out of her thoughts, "I have a good feeling about this, Erica. I know I'm running late, but I'll be home in a bit. Your father's going to Toronto tonight and I have that wine tasting at seven, so I won't be home long."

Erica only managed a twisted, dry smile at the remark. "See you soon."

She was reminded of Lizzie's presence, prompting her to ask, "You remember the story, right?"

"School project. Here against my will. Yeah, yeah." Lizzie muttered, peering down at the same page in her math book.

"In math?" Erica retorted at her.

In response, she grabbed her English text and opened it to a random chapter, shooting the girl a withering look after doing so

Ignoring it, Erica let out a sigh and found her own book, the words blurring before her as she waited.

-x-x-x-

_Sorry for taking forever to update, and thank you for reading. Please review!_


End file.
